


in my mind, you're mine

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [12]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, M/M, basketball!player Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: Jared Padalecki had never been afraid of anything.In which we meet the newest addition, however, things don't always go as planned.





	in my mind, you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> i was totally gonna time-jump on y'all, but then real life took over and delayed this update heavily. so. this takes place directly after the last installment.

For a while, Jensen can’t hear anything.

He knows Jared had to leave to find Alona, and he recalls the abrupt loss of heat with a clarity that will frighten him for years to come.

The pain in his abdomen is so profound he automatically assumes the worst, hefts the swell of his child in both hands and tries not to cry louder than he has thus far.

He rolls onto his back and tries to remember all the seemingly superfluous breathing exercises Al makes him practice when he’s got the down time.

He can hear Chris’ voice raising and then Chad’s, surprisingly softer, and eventually Chris quiets in response to the words.

He can’t hear Jared at all.

This is around when the panic becomes too much and everything falls silent.

-

Jared Padalecki had never been afraid of anything. It’s gotten him into more trouble than he can count, and was the entire reason he and Chad first met, as they continued to get assigned to the same room for detention.

It was the reason he started practicing with the high school team when he first hit his big growth spurt in middle school, refused to wear a jersey with his name on it, because he knew they’d think about his father and his grandfather and his  _ legacy _

More than anything, he’s always loved the game. 

He was thrown decidedly off-kilter when he realized his world had widened enough to allow him to care for something else with double the intensity.

He hasn’t made any of the appropriate calls.

Chris and Chad are in the waiting room, but Jared’s pressed outside of two-way glass, and they’re telling him something--he can scrub up and come on in, but he needs to stay out of the way.

Jensen’s pale, stomach a sleek curve that almost obscures his face. He’s unconscious, and Jared can’t feel anything past the steady thump of his heart.

He’s not listening to anyone until he feels a broad palm settle on his shoulder and turns his head slightly to the left in acknowledgement.

JD is quiet beside him, and he doesn’t bother attempting to meet Jared’s non-gaze.

“I got in contact with Lauren,” he says, and Jared blinks at the mention of his personal assistant. “She’s called your parents and told them that he’s at the hospital in Frontenex.”

They’re raising the partition between Jensen and the doctor, and Jared knows it’s so Jensen can’t see them make the incision.

Jensen won’t see much of anything, seeing as he hasn’t responded to any external stimuli since they airlifted him.

Jared doesn’t realize he’s crying until JD moves his body, jerking Jared’s head down.

“Listen to me,” JD says, and Jared shakes his head, hair flinging into his eyes. “He’s not fucking moving!” Jared hisses, and he knows his hands are digging into JD’s shoulders but he can’t let up.

“He’s supposed to meet him first--we picked out the d-damn name together,” Jared says, words blurring together wetly.

“He’s gonna be  _ fine, _ ” JD continues, ignores Jared as if he hasn’t interrupted at all. “Emergency c-sections happen all the time. He’s gonna be fine. They’re taking care of him right now. Look.”

JD’s voice doesn’t waver, and Jared lifts his head. They’re shaving his abdomen, quickly and efficiently, and the door to the private room opens and Alona ducks her head in, hair in disarray.

“Jay?” She says tentatively, and Jared makes some kind of sound that has her hurrying fully into the room.

“They’re--they’re about to start,” she says, motioning to the procedure. “Do you want to go inside?” Jared doesn’t want to see his husband this lifeless--absolutely not, but he also doesn’t want Jensen to open his eyes and not find Jared there, every step of the way.

“I’m coming,” he says, firmly, and JD’s hand tightens once before releasing.

Al nods once, and seems to motion to the nurses, who hurry into the room chattering in crisp French that washes right over his understanding.

He’s taller than everyone in the room, and for once he feels uncomfortable, big body pushed into a small, delicate space he’s not designed for.

He’s about to meet his son--the first thing he and Jensen have ever created together, and Jensen’s face is grey, mouth a pale, pink line.

Everything is a mashup of color and sound, bruised and cobbled together, and the only thing he can focus on is the lax visage of Jensen’s face.

He stands at the head of the bed, glancing down at the crown of the doctor’s head, scalpel for the sharp incision at Jensen’s lower abdomen.

Later, they’ll tell him that the fetal heartbeat had slowed drastically, and it was much safer to perform the surgery than do the birth naturally, especially as Jensen had lost consciousness early in the process.

Right now, he moves forward, pulled by a string, as the doctor’s arms disappear almost entirely,  _ within,  _ and Jared blinks stupidly as they raise the small bundle of his son out of Jensen’s body.

He’s small, too small, Jared can even see that, born at just over 28 weeks, he thinks.

His eyes flit to Jensen, but there’s still nothing there, and Jared doesn’t even bother stifling the sob that collects.

They’re snipping the umbilical cord quickly and he listens for a cry, any sound at all, but he doesn’t hear anything.

“Is he--” he ventures, but they’re ignoring him, taking his son from the room entirely, and Jared feels less than worthless.

-

It’s Chad that guides him to the incubator, one arm settled between the wingspan of his back.

“...too small, they said, so they have to keep him here. That’s the IV drip, to feed him, they said,” Chad continues, oblivious to Jared’s lack of response.

“They said otherwise he’s healthy,” Chad says, raising his eyes to meet Jared’s for the first time. “Your son is fine, Jay. Just premature. He’s not strong enough yet.”

Jared presses his forehead against yet another window, and gets his first full look at his child. He’s got more color in his face than at first glance, but he’s so covered in tape and tubing that he almost doesn’t seem real.

“He’s healthy,” Chad repeats. “Just over three pounds. They’re gonna fatten him up,” he continues, “then you’re gonna have your hands full trying to learn how to change a diaper,” Chad teases, flat.

“What if I’m doing it alone?” Jared asks, won’t ask outright.

Chad laughs, dry and self-deprecating. “You won’t. You won’t.” He pauses. “And anyway. You wouldn’t be alone.”

-

Jensen wakes up with pain in his right hand.

He grunts and immediately attempts to dislodge his digits from the grip, but the pain intensifies for a second as the person registers his consciousness.

“Oh, fuck,” the person says emphatically, and Jensen’s eyes slit open to catch sight of the tip of a Stetson.

“Stay right there,” Chris says, a bit unnecessarily, as it doesn’t feel like he can move. His stomach is a bit sore, tight like a drum, and his eyes widen when he takes stock of the vitals machine and IV in his arm.

“Where’s my baby,” he says, voice dry as sandpaper. “Where’s Jared?”

Chris is standing now, hip bumping into a beeping machine. “Don’t move, don’t move, I’ma be right back,” he says, ripping open the door to Jensen’s room, cowboy boots little more than a click on the floor.

He’s still adjusting to his surroundings, trying to remember the last thing he remembers, when he feels Jared’s familiar approach.

Jared fills up the entire doorway, has to physically duck to fit through, and his eyes are rimmed in red.

Jensen’s forehead wrinkles with confusion and Jared’s hand uncharacteristically fumbles as he takes hold of both of Jensen’s.

“W-what’s wrong,” Jensen says, eyes roaming. He can hear the procession of medical personnel, and he assumes some of them are coming to speak with him.

“Where’s the baby? Is he okay? Why are you crying? Please! Please talk to me,” Jensen says, voice escalating in panic.

“He’s fine,” Jared breathes, and then he shoves his head underneath Jensen’s chin, breath warm on Jensen’s neck.

“He’s being monitored. He’s so. He’s small,” Jared whispers, and Jensen’s skin is damp, peppered liberally with what feels like tears.

Jensen attempts to free his hands to curl them in Jared’s limp hair, but his husband just holds on tighter, and Jensen makes a pained sound.

“Then why aren’t you happy?” Jensen says, eyes drooping with exhaustion. “You have a little boy,” he adds shyly, aware that Jared already fashioned a playroom complete with a basketball hoop the kid won’t be able to use until he can actually walk.

“They had to perform an emergency C-section,” Jared continues, unmoving. “You were unconscious,” he whispers, and this time Jensen actively struggles for his hand.

“Jared. Jared, look at me,” he commands, and his husband shakes his head, subdued.

“I’m right here,” he says, switching tactics. Jared laughs, a choked, thick noise.

“You weren’t. Not for the main event,” he says, and Jensen’s eyes are damp.

“Please. Please look at me,” he begs, and Jared raises his head quickly, meeting Jensen’s eyes with his own.

“They said it happens all the time,” Jared says, toneless, “but it’s not supposed to happen to  _ you, _ ” he says, floundering for the explanation.

“Not you. It can’t ever be you,” Jared says, and pushes one hand into Jensen’s hair to lock it around the nape of his neck.

“I’m fine. I’m here and I love you,” Jensen whispers, eyes darting around the room. “Did you--did you name him?” He asks, and Jared closes the distance between them after the words, a hot brand against his lips.

“You should name him,” Jared says, inches separating the sentence. “I was waiting on you.”

Jensen laughs despite himself, cheeks damp. “You couldn’t have waited forever, Jay,” he admonishes, but Jared looks at him askance, like he’s deranged. As if Jared had planned on doing anything else.

“Well,” Jensen says slowly, “can I meet him?”

-

_ Three years later _

“He’s not gonna be able to do it, Jay,” Jensen yells, arms crossed over his chest.

Jared’s not listening, and Chad laughs next to him, Fat Tire in his free hand.

“You’re not gonna be able to stop him,” Chad says to no one in particular, and Jensen sighs in mock exasperation.

“I still have to try,” he says, and then, louder, “tie his shoe! Jared! Jared I swear to God if he trips because--thank you! Thank you!”

Jared hooks the adult-sized basketball underneath an armpit and bends down to tie their son’s shoe, almost one-handed.

“Daddy, stop!” Their son yells, slamming one fist against Jared’s downturned head.

Jared says something to him and the child stills, but he’s still bouncing in the custom shoes Jared had made for him around the time the kid first learned to walk.

Jared picks him up then, swinging him onto his shoulders, and Jensen ignores the hook of fear in his chest.

“He’s not gonna drop him,” Chad says unhelpfully, but Jensen looks at the distance from hoop to ground and swallows.

“I will divorce you if you drop him, Jared!” Jensen yells across the court, and Jared laughs, deep and soulful.

“We camed here, Papa,” his son calls, and Jared jostles one small leg to shut him up. 

They’ve done this before? Jensen turns to glare at Chad, as Jared is too far away, but Chad is already holding one hand up in supplication. “I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

Jared hands the boy the basketball and walks forward until he’s just under the net.

“Layup, sweetheart,” Jared says, and the boy dunks the ball, one-handed and only slightly wobbly, with the annoying ease of familiarity.

“Did you see, Papa?!”

Jensen rolls his eyes where his kid can’t see and Chad is already whooping. “Better than Space Jam!” Chad yells, and the boy giggles as Jared makes his way over to them, still on his Daddy’s shoulders.

“I sure did, baby,” Jensen says, pleased against his will. Jared looks sheepish, jiggles one tiny foot so that the boy tilts dangerously.

“Oh my God, put him down,” Jensen says, rubbing at his forehead. 

“I don’t wanna,” he says, wraps his arms so tightly around Jared’s neck that Jared looks close to losing air.

“Logan,” Jensen says firmly, and Logan loosens his grip, smacking one hand carelessly against Jared’s ear.

“I camed here with the whole--the team, a’fore,” Logan says, and now he’s squirming, and Jared shifts so the boy is perched on his hip.

Jensen adjusts the Golden State jersey from where it hangs off of one tanned shoulder and Jared presses a kiss to Logan’s forehead.

“Way to keep a secret, little man,” Jared sighs, and Logan ducks his head underneath Jared’s chin, cheeks pink.

“Daddy said ice cream, after,” Logan says hopefully, and Jensen raises his brows. “Daddy did, did he? Daddy’s promising a lot of things, isn’t he?”

Logan bobs his head, blond hair rubbing against Jared’s afternoon stubble.

Jared and Logan both fix him with identical stares, Logan’s eyes grey-blue-green to Jared’s hazel. 

“Only if you give me a hug,” Jensen capitulates, and Logan flings himself bodily out of Jared’s arms and into Jensen’s.

“Lub you, lub you, Papa,” Logan repeats, peppering his face with wet kisses, while Jared smiles down at them in a way that Jensen can’t long examine.

Well. At least ice cream is on the short-list of things that don’t make him feel ill.

 

 


End file.
